Far from the Silent Forest…
on the opposite edge of this world—where neither silence nor curse can reach—
a grand palace rose, towering as if defying time itself.
At the heart of the palace stretched an immense throne hall, completely empty, as though time had frozen within its towering walls.
A deep crimson carpet flowed from the entrance all the way to the throne, and every step upon it released a heavy echo—
an echo not of footsteps, but of the ground acknowledging the one who walked upon it.
Measured steps.
Steady.
Neither rushed nor hesitant.
Shayn appeared.
He walked across the carpet with his back straight, hands clasped behind him. Every movement carried silent authority—power that needed no display.
His presence alone filled the hall, as if the walls, the pillars, even the emptiness itself… recognized him.
He reached the end of the carpet.
The throne.
A throne no one else ever sat upon, as though the entire hall had been created for him alone, waiting since time immemorial.
He sat.
A deep breath escaped his chest—slow, heavy—
as though countless years had been released at once.
His gaze swept across the hall, his eyes carrying a nostalgia only known to one who had once lost this place.
He spoke softly, calmly, yet laden with sorrow:
"It has been a long time…
So long that I can no longer remember how much has passed."
His body settled into the throne as if they were one—
as if the place itself welcomed him back after an immeasurable absence.
Then he whispered, as though addressing nothing more than the hall's echo:
"It's been a long time, Harveil…"
At that moment… the air changed.
A man appeared from nothingness—without sound, without trace—
as though he had been waiting for this moment alone.
Long white hair.
Pale skin.
Cold features concealing deep emotions.
He wore the attire of an elegant knight, a sword hanging at his waist—steady, like its master.
He stepped forward once, then again, and lowered his head slightly in absolute respect.
"Yes… it has been a long time, Your Majesty," he said in a calm voice saturated with loyalty.
"I believed I would never see you again after your disappearance.
At that time… I could not find you, and not even the Forgotten Seraphs were able to trace your presence."
He slowly raised his eyes.
"So tell me, Your Majesty…
where were you?"
Shain looked at him.
His expression was a strange blend of calm and anger, and when he spoke, his voice was steady—
as though his words themselves carried the weight of a weapon.
"Knowing the place is unnecessary now.
What matters… is that I escaped that wretched place.
And now… I am here."
Harveil hesitated, then spoke with respectful curiosity:
"Forgive me, Your Majesty…
but I must ask: how did you escape? And why now?
Why did this not happen before?"
A faint, mysterious smile formed on Shain's lips—one that offered no answers, only questions.
"The reason…?"
He paused.
"Even I… do not fully understand it."
Then he added, firmly:
"And perhaps… it would be best for you to forget this for now."
Harveil fell silent.
He stared at his lord, eyes filled with shock and questions, yet he understood—
this was not the time.
And that sometimes, being forbidden to ask is itself an answer.
Silence returned to the hall.
A heavy silence, broken only by soft breathing and distant echoes.
Shain sat upon the throne, his body still, yet his eyes moved slowly, as if piercing through walls—and time itself.
Then he broke the stillness, his voice low but penetrating:
"How are the Forgotten Seraphs?
And where are they now?"
Harveil bowed lightly, placing a hand over his chest.
"They are well, Your Majesty.
They are currently outside the palace… on constant standby."
Shain raised his gaze to him, their eyes meeting.
There was something in Shain's eyes—something like a test.
"Have you interacted with the outside world?"
Harveil answered without hesitation, though caution was evident:
"No, Your Majesty. There is no need for concern.
Our interaction has been extremely limited. We have not revealed ourselves, nor left any clear traces.
Even our auras… we suppressed them completely, so as not to be discovered by… those bastards."
The moment the last word was spoken, the atmosphere shattered.
The calm mask on Shain's face cracked as if breaking apart.
His eyes widened slightly, and a terrifying, dark aura erupted from his body, crushing the air itself.
The ground trembled.
The pillars shook.
And the crimson carpet rippled like a stormy sea.
Harveil felt as though a mountain had fallen onto his chest.
He staggered back one step… then another…
and was forced to drive his sword into the ground to keep from collapsing, his teeth chattering under the crushing pressure.
Through the terror, his trembling yet resolute voice rang out:
"Calm yourself, Your Majesty!
This is not the time for anger!"
He raised his head with difficulty, sweat pouring down his brow.
"It is true that the palace isolates your aura and prevents it from leaking outside…
but you must stop.
You have only just returned. Your body and soul have not yet regained their strength.
Anger now will only exhaust you further."
A brief silence followed…
Then the aura slowly began to recede, as if a beast were retracting its fangs.
Shain took a deep breath, and the pressure vanished suddenly.
The air returned to the hall.
The walls fell silent once more.
"…I'm sorry, Harveil," Shain said, his voice softer, though still sharp.
"I lost my composure for a moment."
Harveil did not reply.
He stood in place, catching his breath, his hand trembling slightly, eyes still fixed on his lord—
a mixture of loyalty, awe, and profound respect.
Then Shain broke the silence again.
"Harveil…"
The other immediately raised his head.
"I struggled to survive in the mortal world.
Then I returned… and returned to life once more after escaping that cursed prison."
Shain slowly rose from the throne.
He took a single step forward—
a step whose presence outweighed that of a thousand soldiers.
"And now, having joined this world…
I will live my own life."
He turned slightly, and a strange smile formed on his face—
a smile that held neither peace nor pure madness, but a dangerous blend of both.
"I will live according to my emotions.
Even if the waves hurl me up and down,
even if they push me to the edge of death time and time again."
His voice lowered, growing sharper.
"I will not grieve.
I will not wail.
And I will not fear."
Then suddenly, his tone rose—laughing, unhinged, and brimming with life:
"I will taste every flavor…
pain, joy, chaos, and blood."
He looked up at the ceiling, as if his eyes could see beyond it.
"And I will laugh…
laugh madly until the very end."
Harveil remained silent, but his heart pounded violently.
His lord had returned…
But not as he once was.
More dangerous.